#tbp:task45

I moved accordingly here and there, like any other Reaping day. I buttoned up my overalls, strapped on those ratty boots I got out of the dumpster and began high stepping it to the Hall of Justice like the rest, but today felt different. I feel different. I can’t tell if I’m thinking this just because today is Reaping Day, but I still feel like something bad might happen. Or I just have the bubble guts from last night’s rotten cabbage stew… Either way, I was resistant in moving forward.

Passing by the barn nearest to my house, I decided to stop by and see if anyone will help me out with this whole late thing.  I have an idea. Not fully realized of course.

“Hello, hello, hello,” I ask grey-haired woman holding half a cigarette between her lips.

“Nah,” she scoffs. “We closed for Reaping.”

“I’m tryna to get there, I just need one of those,” I say pointing to an orchard tractor.

The lady lets out a cloud of smoke, “Boy if you don’t get your ass outta this barn.”

I let out a smile, “C’ mon. I’m already running late. I don’t need a nice one.”

The lady coughs while putting out her cigarette on the barn door.  She smiles weakly before turning away with a thousand-yard stare.

“Get. Today is already hard enough.”

“I just-“

“Go,” the woman declares while shuffling her tattered cardigan.

Scrunching up my lip, I nod weakly. The temptation of just taking what I want anyway is still there.  I know that if I wanted I could start up one of these old tractors without a key or permission and be about my day. The Seed taught me to not feel bad about taking what isn’t mine.

I start to walk away from the barn, but when I step forward I notice a set of keys hidden in the hay. They must have fallen out through one of the many holes in her cardigan. I turn back to the woman as if I was going to tell her, but I stop. I guess there still is some part of me that misses the dangerous life…

With the bang of the engine, I drive away from the barn. The tractor pulls faster than I anticipate, as the wind wants nothing more than to announce its arrival. To say, "I'm here," in my face.  

It’s not until I swiftly arrive at the Hall of Justice when I realize that I’m going fast. I tear around the corner and fly by a set of peacekeepers. I try to slow the tractor down as commanded, but the brake appears to be jammed. I violently shift down on the gearshift to get the tractor, but it’s useless. I’m screwed.

“Uh oh,” I mutter as the key breaks off in the ignition.

Over the sound of the purring tractor, I hear a loud voice coming over the speaker system while I weave in and out of people. I realize how late I am as that voice calls out a distinct name from center stage.

“Monday Twilight.”

I steer the runaway tractor away from the crowd, knowing good and well what I have to do next. I head straight for the nearest solid, sturdy object and embrace for impact.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a blurry shape of a person where the voice was talking, strutting over to the glass bowl.  Before she can say the name into the microphone her attention fixates on something in my direction. I try to see why it got quiet, but I realize it’s me. Everyone and I do mean everyone is looking at me. I look forward just in time to witness myself plowing the tractor straight into a peacekeeper tower.